In Love We Trust
by Quaeitur
Summary: When Jazz brings her boyfriend home from college on Spring Break, she knows it won't go well. When her father finds out her boyfriend is Muslim, that turns out to be the understatement of the century. If a love is unaccepted by so many, can it stay alive in the face of prejudice, or will their families tear them apart? Jazz/OC.
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** So, this fic. This is a thing. A thing that is happening. I'm not sure how people will react, but I really want to tell the awkward story of how this plays out. I guess I'll just wait and see if anyone else is interested in this. But as always, comments, thoughts, criticisms, ideas and feedback of all kinds are welcome.

* * *

Some nerves were normal when introducing a boyfriend to the family.

Jazz was a frazzled mess, but only in ways her boyfriend would notice. Jazz in a tizzy was not the same as other people in a tizzy; there were only subtle signs she was nervous. Her eyes kept sweeping the airplane cabin, she kept biting her lower lip, and she continually sighed. These were minor things played out over the course of the flight back to Amity Park. They were indicative of a bigger problem, one he couldn't help with because he had, in fact, seen it coming. He had told her that she should have been honest with her family.

The words 'I told you so' were so hollow he didn't even bother with saying them. Instead, he simply continued to read his book, smiling at her when she leaned her head against his shoulder. He wasn't a very physically affectionate person, but he could never refuse Jazz and her intense teal eyes. He was weak to her, and that was something he was increasingly okay with. If he wasn't, he wouldn't have agreed to go home with her for this break. Meeting her parents was something that had his nerves alight, so he had to think of anything else, of how to make her less nervous, of how this was only a week. He reached over and placed his copper colored hand over her smaller cream colored one, lacing his fingers through hers.

He looked over at her when he felt her head turn. "You okay?"

"My dad is going to run you off," she said with a sigh. She looked away, then back up at him. "I mean, you know how he is. You saw all the ghost hunting gear he sent me."

"I'm sure he just wants to keep you safe," he replied after a pause, thinking over the pile of weapons in her closet that went unused and sometimes unwrapped. Her dorm room overflowed with things from home. Honestly, he was a little awed by the inventiveness of her parents. "He's probably a great guy. It's just a parent thing to hate anyone dating their daughter. I think it's an international law or something – my father still dotes on my older sister."

"It's dumb. I'm an adult now, I shouldn't have to defend the fact I'm dating." She folded her arms. They were still dancing around the issue, but if she wasn't going to broach the topic then neither was he, not right now.

"I've had the same argument with my mother over you. I don't think we have a choice in this." He glanced up as the announcement came in that they were landing. "Well, I suppose now I'll get to meet the little brother you keep raving about."

"Danny's awesome. At least _he_ won't take this badly… at first," she added after a pause. He squeezed her hand comfortingly. "Why did I suggest this again?"

"We've both lost our minds," he replied, smiling fondly. "And I'm alright with that, if I have you with me."

* * *

Jack Fenton wasn't malevolent, he was just ignorant.

His response to his daughter dating a man at college had been to send everything she would need to detect a ghost. When she gave details, which she only did when pressed, she had been sparse with them, saying only he was from Africa, they met in a Psychology class and he was in the same year as she was. Jack knew nothing of Africa, psychology or modern college, but since they'd been dating for months now he figured it was time to meet the man sweeping his only daughter off her feet. September to May was a long time for a college couple, at least from how he remembered college being.

His first thought was that the man Jazz walked towards them with wasn't dark skinned enough to be African; his hair was textured like a white person's, too, black and sleek, slicked back from a heart shaped face. His eyes were such a dark blue that they were almost black, his smile a bit uneasy as he took in the sight of the Fenton family. Jack couldn't find a reason to run him off yet. That was only a matter of time. No one was good enough for his Jazzypants. Some foreign student from some country Jack had never heard of would have to work hard to prove he wasn't just looking for a school romance before heading back to wherever he was from. After all, Jack had seen men do that when he was in college. For every ten normal foreign students, there was always one picking up chicks as a major.

"Mom, Dad, Danny! You made it!" Jazz smiled, hugging them in turn. "I was worried with how late our flight was getting in that you'd just have Dad pick us up."

"Oh, honey," her mother cooed, "I know we can be busy with work, but we always have time for you. Right, Jack?"

"Of course. So, kiddo, you gonna introduce us or not?" he asked, smiling even as he side-eyed the man in front of him.

"Right," the redhead said, taking a deep breath. "Everyone, this is Rakin Farhan, my boyfriend. Rakin, this is… everyone."

"It's nice to finally meet you," Rakin said, holding out his hand for Jack to shake.

Jack took it and squeezed, hard. It was a standard boyfriend greeting, but… "You're Muslim." With a name like that, it wasn't a question. "Jazz didn't tell us that."

"Ah, well. I have no control over what your daughter says or does," he said diplomatically, looking to Maddie for help. The auburn woman seemed to sense the spike in tension and reacted accordingly.

"So, what part of Africa are you from, Rakin?" she asked sweetly, taking his hand with a small, nervous smile.

"Eritrea, actually."

"Is that a place?" Danny asked with mild snark in his voice. Rakin chuckled even as Maddie gave him a warning look.

"It is, we're just not particularly big. I guess it's easy to miss unless you're reading up on Africa as a whole," he replied, trying not to look at Jack, whose fists were slowly clenching and unclenching. "Don't worry, Jazz had the same response."

"She did, did she?" Jack looked Rakin in the eyes. "Did she know it's a Muslim country?"

"Well, Eritrea is actually sixty percent Christian, forty percent Muslim, so I'm not sure it's accurate to say we're a country of Muslims…" he trailed off at the look on Jack's face, one that said all words were useless.

"Why don't you kids go get your baggage?" Maddie suggested, gently leading her husband away. "I just need a word with Jack for a second. Danny, go with them, okay sweetie?"

As they walked towards the baggage claim, Rakin and Jazz silently reached for each other's hands.

"That went well," Danny remarked, and this time he didn't get a chuckle from Rakin.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** This is a slower chapter, but it sets up everyone's attitudes (except Danny, who's still on the fence) and gets the groundwork down for things so this doesn't turn into an immediate over the top soap opera. Also, pardon me if my Arabic is off when I have Rakin lapse into bits of it. It's very typical for Muslims from his country, but I'm operating off of learning materials that are Standardized Arabic instead of the correct dialect. Sorry.

* * *

"At least Danny doesn't hate me yet," Rakin muttered to Jazz as they grabbed their baggage. "Did you tell him about us? I mean, about me. I mean – you know what I mean."

"I told him I was worried about our parents reacting badly. He doesn't know anything the rest of the family doesn't." She hefted her suitcase up and sighed. "I don't even want to know what Mom and Dad are saying."

Danny came up from behind them to take Jazz's suitcase. "Dad does kind of have a right to be angry. You had since September to say something."

"My parents found out on accident," Rakin admitted with a cringe. "At least your sister was honest enough to choose a time."

The teenager looked interested. "How'd they take it?"

Rakin turned to his own suitcase and looked very busy with the handle adjustment.

"That well, huh?"

"Danny, please," Jazz sighed tiredly. "Just. Save it until morning. We need coffee if we're going to get through this."

Her brother grinned cheekily, quipping, "I thought college kids were supposed to drink all the time."

Both of them gagged at the thought. It was a mutual motion of disdain brought by the fact Jazz didn't trust any alcohol after tasting how awful it was at someone's welcome party and the other fact that Rakin, being Muslim, had never had a drink until he tried one in his rebellious phase. He remembered burning and pain and throwing up, and had realized that the no-drinking rule of his religion was a wise and wonderful one he wanted to uphold forever and ever. Neither of them would be caught dead celebrating Spring Break drinking, flocking to a tourist spot and passing out repeatedly. He hadn't come to the United States to become everything wrong with youth today; he had some dignity, even without factoring in the fact that his mother would kill him.

Instead, without the money to fly home, Rakin had opted to ask Jazz if they could spend the time together. Christmas break had been a lonely affair for him, stranded on an empty campus for the most family oriented time of the year in America. As much as he loved snow and could still be awed by the beauty of the outdoors alight at night with decorations, he missed home. And Jazz had been kind enough to postpone going for two days and come back two days early. It was a gesture that had helped her win over a small portion of Rakin's family, as his sister Jinan insisted it must be real love from then on out. It was far from the family inviting Jazz over for Eid dinner, but it was a start.

So Rakin had suggested she stay a day with him for Spring Break. He had expected their usual quiet dinners, talkative nights arguing over issues of Psychology Today and walks in the park. He had not anticipated her informing him her family was dying to meet him and she wanted to go back home. It was an accidental honor, maybe. He wasn't sure what being invited to meet her parents meant to her, or to Americans in general, but back home that was one of the more concrete steps towards getting married. To say he was floored was an understatement. The young man had never been invited to meet a girl's parents before. His own parents had set him up on arranged dates that amounted to nothing as their less than rich family was overlooked in favor of sending those girls to more promising young men. Rakin was only at college by virtue of flawless academics and scholarships.

There was no point where he'd expected to find someone to make his life feel full and rich in a cramped Psychology classroom on a crisp autumn morning. Sometimes, he couldn't even recall the desperate pangs of longing for home when he was with her. Right now, he felt more acutely than he had in months how much of an outsider he could be, and he had a feeling it was going to get worse before it got better.

"Well, at least I know you didn't meet him at a kegger," Danny told Jazz, snapping Rakin out of his thoughts and drawing a smile out of him. "But seriously, warnings?"

"People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones," she hissed back, causing her boyfriend to glance over at them, but her look to him said now was not the time. Quite frankly, he had bigger priorities.

* * *

They managed to make it to the Fenton's van before the awkward question and answer session began anew. To her credit, Maddie was clearly uncomfortable, but was keeping it civil for the moment while they were in transit.

"So, do you have any siblings?" she asked pleasantly, trying to keep things from getting awkward again.

"I'm the second youngest of five, actually. I have two older brothers, an older sister, and a little sister." He idly fiddled with his hair, tucking a strand behind his ear.

Danny wanted to know what Eritrea was like, but cut Rakin off when he began to describe the plants and the weather, saying simply, "So, Africa, then."

"Pretty much," Rakin replied, still not sure if Danny was okay with him or not. "Different food, though coffee is surprisingly universal."

"I was kind of hoping you'd tell me what it's like to live there, not the pamphlet version," Danny mused, and Rakin's eyes lit up.

Jazz sighed, rolling her eyes, as her boyfriend eagerly described in detail the bustling streets of Asmara and the markets full of people and delicious vegetables and how the university café there had the best almond_ labneh_ and cream in the world next to his mother's- Only when Danny's eyes glazed over did Jazz save her little brother by leaning over and physically pressing Rakin's jaw up. He paused, blushed sheepishly, and rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. Maddie seemed interested in everything he said, which was a little unnerving, but Jack seemed a bit distant, deliberately unreadable, which was far harder to deal with. Jazz smiled fondly at him, used to these kinds of tangents on his home.

"_Anaa aasif udhran_," he muttered apologetically, noticing only too late his use of Arabic caused Jack to tense. "I guess it's what you'd call hometown loyalty. It's a good place to live. Maybe not as rich as other countries, but it's home."

"So," Jack said sternly, "We were thinking of laying down some ground rules about you dating my daughter."

Rakin nodded. That was reasonable. When his sister Jinan had gotten married, his father had gone over for a private 'chat' with the groom to be that apparently needed his older brothers' help. This sort of thing was just part of fatherhood, right? And Jack would do the same for any man attempting to date their daughter. Oh, he wasn't stupid enough to think there wouldn't be this extra animosity there if he wasn't who he was, but raising the issue wasn't the right way to deal with it. He would confront it by not confronting it and letting his actions and words be his defense to the Fentons. It worked when Jinan's boyfriend tried it… not that the Fentons and Farhans had anything in common so far other than being families with multiple children.

"No kissing, no making out, no being alone in a room together-"

"Dad!" Jazz protested, but he kept on talking.

"And if I catch you doing anything inappropriate with my daughter-"

"_DAD!_" Jazz shrieked, going bright red. "We're not like that! Oh my God! Mom, make him stop!"

Maddie rubbed the bridge of her nose, sighing. "Jack, they're not even going to be on the same floor. And we can trust our daughter." Her voice wavered slightly on that last sentence, causing Jazz's eyes to go wide, but she kept on. "It's late. We can have this discussion when the kids have had some sleep."

* * *

Jack grumbled, but they went the rest of the way home in silence.

They set Rakin up in the guest bedroom on the first floor, which Maddie proudly announced she had cleaned all the ectoplasm out of. He took that in stride as much as he could.

When he was unpacking and yawning, clearly interested only in getting to bed as quickly as possible, Maddie went upstairs, to where Jazz looked similarly wiped out. She looked up as her mother came in and quiet shut the door, looking at Jazz critically. Apparently her 'this can wait' declaration only applied to Jack. She leaned against the wall, crossing her arms and sighing, looking tired. Her purple eyes met Jazz's teal ones, but were unreadable. The silence stretched on for a long moment before Maddie spoke.

"I really can't believe this," Maddie started. "I really thought you'd know better than to lie to us for all this time."

"I didn't lie, I just… didn't mention some things."

Her mother gave her a flat look.

"…alright, so I didn't tell you. How was I supposed to?"

"Honestly, honey, in any other way than this. You really blindsided us. You could have at least told us back at Christmas when you were here, or told us through an email, or said what country he was from," she paused, then added, "Even if I still don't know where Eritrea is on a map."

Jazz ran a hand through her hair, looking frazzled. "I'm trying to do the right thing. You guys know now, right? Doesn't that count for something?"

"It does. But we expected a lot more honesty from you, young lady. These aren't little things. Where he's from and what he believes are part of him. If we don't know who he is for nearly eight months, that doesn't sound like a vote of confidence from you."

"Don't turn this back on him," she said to her mother sharply. "I mean, this isn't about him. I didn't tell you because of Dad. And you. Mostly, Dad, but… I didn't know how you'd take it."

"We'd have taken it better in September," Maddie sighed. She turned to go. "You really should have thought this out better, Jazz."

"Mom?" Jazz asked quietly. "You don't have anything against Rakin, do you?"

"…I don't know. I don't know anything anymore."

She shut the door behind her with a quiet click.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** After this it is all drama and seriousness. Consider this our last lull before the storm. On the bright side, after this chapter Jazz pretty much takes the reigns and starts standing up to her parents. Also, thank you to my reviewers. I can't believe anyone's interested in this. I'm glad people out there are willing to give this a shot. Thanks, guys.

* * *

Rakin had coffee going and breakfast in the making when Jack woke up.

Jazz was in the kitchen, not helping – she'd never been a good cook – just talking. Rakin's responses were a mix of English and Arabic, but Jazz seemed to understand regardless, and the conversation flowed smoothly. For a moment he took the sight in with the knowledge that this was what it would be like if the two were married, a thought that made his stomach twist. He could see them together, spending their mornings with Jazz hovering over the paper, Rakin over-thinking the simple process of making pancakes, the smell of coffee and olive oil hanging in the air. There were two plates of some kind of flat bread on the counter with olives on it, and judging off the color of the glass next to him, Rakin was drinking straight lime juice. They were quietly warm and domestic. They were at ease as if they'd done this a hundred times before, and could do it a hundred times more.

Every part of him rejected the idea. Because Jazz was his daughter, because Arabic shouldn't roll off her tongue in return like that, because she was too young, because Rakin would want her to go off and live in the middle of nowhere with him or worse, convert her to Islam entirely; there were so many reasons this was a horrible idea. There were so many reasons he hated this entire week and knew it was only going to go downhill. His baby girl was his greatest treasure; who did Rakin Farhan think he was? He couldn't just swoop in and sweep her off her feet like this.

Jack made his presence known by asking what was for breakfast. Rakin responded by pushing a platter of pancakes towards him. Jazz was half-eating her plate, half reading, a sight so familiar neither man questioned it. No one who knew her could deny Jazz was smart as a whip. Though she'd chosen to major in Psychology, she wasn't only gifted in that area, and it was easiest to let her have her newspaper in peace if you wanted to stay on her good side. Her newspaper reading had begun when she was eight and had simply never stopped; she was always alert, always thinking, from the time she woke up to the time she went to bed. In her teal pajamas, she looked younger than she was, while Rakin, clad in black pajama pants and a gray T-shirt, looked older, a bit solemn for his age. Jack wondered vaguely if it was a religious thing or an Arab thing.

Before he could ask and ruin a perfectly good morning, Danny sleepily stumbled down the stairs. "I smell pancakes," he announced sleepily. "Are there any chocolate chip ones?"

Rakin and Jack gagged at roughly the same time at the thought. Eyebrows rising and then descending, the young Muslim repeated slowly, "You want me to put _chocolate_ in a _pancake_?"

"I'll do it," Jazz volunteered, as Rakin continued to look baffled by what he'd just heard. "Oh, get over it. This is like the pumpkin spice latte thing all over again."

"Those would only be the same thing if they actually tasted like pumpkin," Danny put in, sitting down at the table. "Last I checked, they don't."

"But if they did, _why_ would you mix them?" Rakin asked, earning a shake of the head from his girlfriend.

"It's America. We'll mix anything. I thought you liked that about us."

"When your people created cheesecake ice cream, caramel corn, chocolate covered pretzels, deep fried ice cream, Boston crème cake, seven layer cake, pecan pie, five-fruit crepes, Mississippi mud pie, pralines, and the entire Dairy Queen franchise, yes, but… what?"

Jazz was grinning, and giggling as she made Danny his chocolate chip pancakes. "Name one item on that list that wasn't pure sugar."

He faltered, pausing before raising a hand, one finger extended, hope dawning on his face. "…there's some salt in pretzels."

She laughed and flicked him with pancake batter. "Your mom is right. America is going to make you fat."

"I love you too," he muttered, dejectedly taking his own pancakes and sitting down. "If I said something like that to you, you'd leave me for that guy in your Literature class with the ponytail." It was meant as a joke, but she shot him a dirty look. "What? If I had exes you'd make fun of them. Or psycho-analyze them and my relationships with them prior to this."

Jack looked up sharply from his food. "What guy with a ponytail?"

Rakin sighed, planting his face in his palms. "…you didn't tell them about the other guy you dated? Oh, _ya'allah_."

"I told Mom," Jazz objected, and Jack joined Rakin in facepalming.

"Smooth, sis," Danny muttered. "Well, at least I know what _not_ to do when I get to college. Or dating. Whichever comes first. Somebody pass the butter?"

Jack did, and then turned back to important matters: the guy with the ponytail.

* * *

Maddie was drinking tea, something she did in order to reduce headaches.

She couldn't take pills – her gag reflex was such that she'd throw up, and she had an allergy to something in aspirin that left her sick and flat out on the floor. As a result, since Rakin arrived she'd gone through multiple kettles of tea, sitting up through the night researching his country. And his religion. And most importantly, she'd been debating whether or not her reaction was justified. He wasn't a bad man by outward appearances; it was all just so unknown. He could not be from a more far flung corner of the Earth if he'd tried. What little she could find painted a picture of a country struggling under the weight of the government, a place with a lot of issues but without any stereotypical terrorist connections.

It was just like any other troubled country in the world, making progress slowly but steadily. And oddly the split of religions didn't seem to be a priority for anyone there. Eritrea was a country with such poor freedom of the press that everyone united in protesting that and freedom of religion without pausing to be angry at each other for differing on the religions in question. There was a prevailing unity – of Eritreans, against Eritrea. She was oddly soothed by this information, as it meant the likelihood of Rakin being involved in anything more than maybe a protest or two were slim to none.

Also, apparently there were a lot of ethnic groups in Eritrea. She might have been wrong guessing he was Arab. They spoke Arabic there, but there was also a fair number of African languages and… Italian. Maddie still needed more tea for that to make sense. Apparently there were a lot of Italians in a country that sat on the border between the Middle East and Africa proper. She'd hoped to put together something to show Jack to help him 'get it', but _she_ didn't get it. On reflection, Maddie realized her sum total knowledge of Africa and the Middle East was wildly outdated at best.

But Muslims were not allowed by the Quran to marry non-Muslims. So at least she had an actual fact she could get a grip on.

"Doing some research, Mrs. Fenton?" Rakin asked, startling her. He held up a pot of tea as if to say 'I come in peace'. "Jazz said you had a headache. I thought I'd get a brief break from hearing the hundred and fifty two reasons I should take up ghost hunting as a profession and bring this to you."

"That bad, huh?" She smiled weakly. "You have to understand, Jack and I are passionate about our work. And ghosts can be dangerous here."

"They're dangerous back home. But we have about as many in my country as Amity has in total," he said thoughtfully, placing the teapot on her desk. His dark blue eyes were a bit more guarded than they'd been last night, a bit less open. "I made breakfast if you'd like some. Your husband had an… unexpected appreciation for my cooking. Is there any chance of you talking to me instead of asking Google about my background?"

She bit her lip, leaning back in her chair. After a moment, she sighed. "I'm just concerned for you two. You're young and idealistic. The reality of the situation is that this isn't normal in America. It's not a great idea in Eritrea. And as a mother, I have a right to be worried about my daughter and her dating choices. Especially since she's had so little dating experience."

"Ma'am, if I can be frank, Jazz holds the cards here. She could end this any time she wants to. No one is forcing her to date me. When she dumped her first boyfriend it was very clear and clean cut, you'll recall. Your daughter is, and I mean this with as much respect to your family as I can have, a woman now. This is not in your power to decide for her."

"It's not in yours, either. What's your long term plan, exactly? How do your parents feel about all this?" When he shut his eyes and inhaled and exhaled slowly as a response, she felt a twinge of sympathy, but this was for his own good. Better that they break it off now before it became serious and-

"My brother Bayhas studied in New York. His wife converted to Islam before they were married. But my parents got over having an American in the family. They live in the city of Massawa now, back home."

Maddie felt chilled. "Is that what you have planned for Jazz?"

He opened his eyes and shook his head, looking at the floor. "No. I have no plans. There was never a plan. I didn't go looking for this, _mashallah_. But… it gives me hope, that if my parents could accept an American Muslim, perhaps one day they can accept Jazz as who she is. As I said, she holds the cards. If she converts, moves or does anything else, you can rest assured I didn't strong arm her into a word of it. And if we break up, she'll always be part of me. She's the best friend I ever had."

"Then can't you leave it at friends? Do you have to date her?" She ran a hand through her hair, frustrated, increasingly having problems holding anything against him but needing to, needing someone to blame for her uneasiness and the obvious stress on her husband from this. "Can't you walk away from this?"

He straightened up, and took a deep breath, glancing up and meeting her eyes. "I apologize for disrespecting you like this, Mrs. Fenton, but no. No, I can not. I will not."

Exasperated, she snapped, "Why not?"

"You are an atheist married to a Christian. You are approaching your twenty fifth anniversary, you have two children, a good home and your dream jobs. Mrs. Fenton, you are _proof_ Jazz and I can work. Why should I walk away when you did not?"

She had no response to that, so he politely excused himself, clearly restraining himself from showing any of the emotional turmoil going on in his head. She'd noticed that about him, the way his eyes would flash but he would reel it in. That would make him Tigrinya; their culture valued an unemotional front as a sign of stability in men. Maddie vaguely wondered if his parents were native to Eritrea or had moved there after the war with Ethiopia, if they spoke the language or just Arabic, exactly where this young man with the ability to tolerate so much had come from. He had seemed so young and vulnerable when he shut his eyes. He had opened up to her. And in return Maddie had shot him down like… well, like her father had shot down Jack when they were dating. The thought made her head pound anew.

She poured herself another cup of tea. It was going to be a long week.


End file.
